Skin
by SerpentsAttire
Summary: WillSam LennoxSam PreSlash. "Your skin, it's like mine. There's ... seriously no difference". Guilt is such a lovely demon. Rated for language.


_**Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, did not write this story for slander, and do not receive profit for it.**_

_**Notes:** There's ... not enough Will/Sam slash for me. :( _

**Timeline: After the movie. :3**

_**Warnings:** AU, slash, strong language, and sexual situations between two men. :)_

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**Skin**

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Will called him a soldier once. Grabbed him, looked him dead in the eye, and told him flat.

He had hated himself viciously for it after Mission City. Ironhide had commented on the words when he drove Will home -- complimented him on it, even. But Will Lennox could not get rid of the bitter taste of disgust on his tongue, even when he had kissed Sarah the second he spotted her. It just stayed.

He hadn't kissed Sarah since.

They weren't together now. They weren't separated -- not exactly. But he had sent her away not too soon after the battle, when things were still a little sticky with the government about his involvement with the aliens (the Vice President was not as understanding as the Sec. Def., apparently. Unappreciative bastard). The calls from the disbanded, disgruntled Sector 7, voicing more information about him and his family than he was comfortable with them knowing had only increased his anxiety. When a black BMW had followed Sarah home, Will had had enough. Optimus had helped.

He didn't know where she or Anabelle were now. He wouldn't let himself care.

Three months later, and he was resting against Ironhide's bulky frame, just against a cool cannon, at the Lookout. He could hear Bumblebee grumbling in the distance, sounding irritated as he answered whatever question Ratchet had posed. Optimus was parked under a tree, still in his colorful Semi-Truck form, and perched on his roof--

Sam.

He hadn't spoken with Sam longer than he hadn't spoken with Sarah.

He watched the way the teen trembled slightly in the slowly chilling air, as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Brown curls tossing in the wind as far as their short length would allow, darker brown eyes darting around the area alertly. Checking where they all were, making sure they were safe.

Like a soldier.

Will grimaced and pushed further against the cannon. Ironhide grunted in response, turning wide silver optics to him pointedly.

"I want to stretch," the Autobot growled softly, pulling on his arm. Reluctantly, the military captain stood, a slow grin forming on his face as the weapon specialist made a grand show of finally being free. God, but did he love that damn idiot. Eppes aside, Ironhide was one of the best friends Will had ever had.

His smile faded, though, when Ironhide slowly pulled away, turning to join his two companions in their debate, leaving Will vulnerable to the cool air and sight. He shoved his hands in his pockets -- he could feel Sam looking at him, attention grabbed by the obvious departure. He lifted his eyes just in time to catch the younger man slide off of Optimus.

"Will?"

Damn it.

"What's up, kid?" He kept his voice nonchalant, smooth. Thin shoulders shrugged in response, and Sam stopped just inches from the captain's feet. Had he always been this tall?

"Ironhide told Optimus you needed to speak with me," Sam replied softly. "They said other stuff, too, but you know Autobots. Need to know basis." He chuckled at some inside joke he obviously shared with Bumblebee, too caught in it to notice Will's soft groan.

"It's nothing," he assured the teen, shooting his alien companion a dark look as the laughter died down. "Just some personal shit I have to sort through." Sam shot him an understanding look, and he hated himself more.

"Missing Sarah and Belle?" He inquired tentatively, unsure. Will ran a dirty hand over his face and through his hair with a sigh.

"Yeah. Yeah, I miss them." His beautiful baby. His wife. God. Sam cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this, Will." Out of all the things he had ever expected to hear from Sam's mouth, an apology was certainly not anywhere on the list. "They wouldn't have even come here if it hadn't been for the damn glasses. And Sector 7 wouldn't be bothering you if I hadn't pissed Simmons off so badly about Bumblebee. And if I hadn't dropped the Cube in Mission City--." Before he could stop himself, Will placed a hand over Sam's mouth, eyes narrowed and self-loathing at a high.

Taking the blame. Soldiers took the blame.

"Shut. Up," he growled. "The Cube came here all by itself, no one told you about the damn glasses, Sector 7 is just fucked up, and it was my idea to go to Mission City. If anything, I should be apologizing to you." He retracted his hand just as quickly as he had placed it, wiping it against his pants, adrenaline fading as quickly as it had appeared.

What the fuck was he doing? He didn't have the right to touch him like that. No one did. Not Sam. In the distance, he could hear the semi-truck's engine rumble lowly as if in agreement. Fuck.

Will blinked when he heard Sam snort, effectively drawing him back to the teen's face. His brow scrunched at the sight of the small smile on Sam's lips, the almost disbelieving look in his eyes. "What?" he demanded in soft exasperation. Sam simply shook his head, gentle smile still in place.

"Your skin," he explained, leaning back on his heels. His eyes held a slight light of disbelief, as though he was surprised at whatever revelation had come to his mind. Will's scowl lightened to one of confusion.

"My skin," he repeated dumbly. Sam nodded, ducking his head in embarrassment, and reached out -- Will was too surprised at the movement to pull back when the smaller hand clutched his own.

"Yeah, your skin." A light laugh. Relieved? The brunette's head shook again. "It feels just like mine. There's ... seriously no difference."

Will looked down at their clasped hands, simply staring in wonder. He could feel the roughness of his own fingers grinding against the roughness of Sam's ... dry, overworked, _blood-stained_.

"Don't think on it too much, Captain." Another laugh, and Sam pulled his hand away. For a moment, their eyes locked, blue with brown. A pink tongue tipped out to moisten Sam's dry lips. "Mikaela and I broke up, you know. Too much, or something." And with those words, Sam turned and walked toward the trio of Autobots, the smile still on his lips.

_You're a soldier now._Will's arms shook, and he jumped slightly when Optimus rumbled again.

Maybe he was.**

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**End**

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_Um ... see ... they showed the preview for Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen during Watchmen, and ... um..._

_OHMYFRICKINGOSH*explodes*_

Always,

Me


End file.
